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I peered at him from the corner of my eye. For someone who pretended to be impersonal and indifferent, he certainly seemed easy with caring for others. I shuffled them on, grateful for the extra layer of warmth.
“You look like your brother you know,” I said to start conversation, hoping that he might not find it such an inconvenience this time.
He tsked as if the thought was more a nuisance. “He’s a runt.”
I laughed and he seemed stunned. Shadow barked, bouncing beside us on the snow as we walked. With a flush over his cheeks, Eric stared ahead.
“Compared to you, I think anyone would look like a runt. But it’s kind of nice seeing you all get along. I don’t have any siblings so it’s nice to watch,” I admitted with hands in my puffy pink jumper.
He seemed to consider this for a while as we rounded the corner of the main street and toward a lake. It was so serene and quiet here. The lake had frozen over, the sun glistening over it effortlessly. Snowflakes created small droplets all over my jacket, and yet somehow it made it feel more magical.
“Come under here,” Eric instructed, directing me toward a wooden rotunda. It did the best it could to block out the snow, revealing the vastness of the lake and the mountains beyond.
“During the summer you’ll often see the locals fishing here. They don’t catch much but I think that’s more about their skill than what’s available in here. And sometimes tourists will back up their boats and just party on the lake for a day or so. Most of them coming from the bigger town over.” He pointed at certain spots, creating a life outside the desolate view now. I couldn’t imagine any of those things.
“And do you fish?” I asked.
“No. It’s never been my sport and I’m not here during the summer. My uncle and father love it though.”
“Where do you go during the summer?” I asked curiously. Did he hibernate when it picked up in population?
He seemed to consider me for a moment, as if revealing any more information might give away his deepest and darkest secrets. Or perhaps it was more information than he’d been willing to give a stranger, who as far as I was aware was stranded with him for another night.
“I only ever come here for the winter season for the whole month of January to relieve my father and uncle of their duties around the town.”
“So where do you come from?” I inquired also curious about his parents. I’d just assumed he was local. For some reason, I was taken back by that. So, this wasn’t his home? And yet I couldn’t imagine him anywhere else.
Again, he seemed to consider my question as he guided me outside of the rotunda and back toward the main street. “I live in Chicago.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait you live in a city? With actual buildings and suburbia?”
He seemed just as mock-shocked by my admission. “Is it so hard to believe?”
“Yea, well you know for the most part you don’t seem like the city man type?”
“The city man type?”
I shrugged nonchalant. “You know there’s heaps of them, the artist, the business man, the husband with a wife and kids but says he’s single, the crypto guy, the entrepreneur, the—”
“You seem to know a lot about these types?” he queried, caution in his tone.
Eric pointed out the local grocery store. I’d driven past it on the way in but had thought it was an abandoned building. The town needed a makeover, but it held a certain charm. I sighed, defeated in the admission I was about to make. Would he think less of me for it? Everyone dated in Manhattan like it was a professional sport. Didn’t they? “Well, you could consider me a serial dater or a socialite depending on what way you look at it.”
His eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly, his expression unreadable like usual. “You don’t have a ‘type’ then?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, I just think you know when you know, you know?”
Again, he held that scornful expression as he pushed his shoulders back. I hadn’t realized how much he’d been trying to cater to my size by dipping his gaze to my eye level as we walked. “No. I don’t,” he said bitterly.
Okay that definitely sounded like someone had been burnt. I couldn’t see any wedding ring so I’d assumed he was single, but it wouldn’t be uncommon for someone his age to be married and divorced by now, another sport in Manhattan.
Pretending like I didn’t notice the change in his tone, I bounced along as he pointed out a fabric store. It looked like a shop front but was also obviously someone’s home as well. Inside the first room was Ann rocking back and forth on a wooden chair and knitting. “Well, what about you, what’s your type?”
Immediately he growled. “I don’t have a type. I don’t do women.”
“Oh.” I was taken aback. He seemed confused. “Sorry I had no idea that you preferred men.”
“I’m not into men,” he quickly blurted out, red crossing his cheeks once again.
